


A Word for the Sleeping

by CarnivalOfRust



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Adventure, Drama, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-02 08:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16783177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarnivalOfRust/pseuds/CarnivalOfRust
Summary: Deep down in the Allianz Arena´s catacombs, a few brave young men ponder the probability of happiness, noise is a nuisance (except when it isn´t), and if they´re not careful, this whole thing might just blow up in their faces.





	1. A vaguely disconcerting start

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this a verbal wave to each of you who is actually reading my notes.
> 
> I don´t think this story will be as long as A Game of Two Halves, but there will be several more chapters until I have arrived at a satisfactory conclusion. This time, it´s all about excitement, coupled with a bit of drama because I like to apply generous amounts of that to everything I write. Time, or specifically, the lack of it is a hindrance to my continued progress, but I´ll do my best to provide you with regular updates.
> 
> Since the story briefly features the recently substituted Lopetegui as Real Madrid coach, the attentive reader might arrive at the conclusion that this is set in a specific time frame. I can assure you that, apart from the player constellation, everything is fabricated and any attempt to place this concrete match against Munich in Real´s history will be appreciated but futile.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

Marcelo was not the first to notice that something was wrong, nor was he the second. He failed to be bothered by his colleague´s increasing lack of noise, engrossed in keeping the ball balanced in the hollow of his carefully inclined foot. In fact, he had to be prodded from his exercise by Toni who pointed towards the man tensely gesticulating at their coach.

“Yeah. What” he almost snapped at the interruption of his neatly executed trick, raising a hand immediately when Toni´s brows furrowed in disconcertment. “Sorry, what´s up?”

The German´s pointed finger stabbed further into the air, and as Marcelo glanced alongside it towards Lopetegui who was hastily striding towards them, accompanied by an increasing mass of orange-clad people, he had a feeling their day was about to get an exciting twist.

They were supposed to play against Munich on the following day, and while the Allianz Arena did not carry particularly bad memories for the Madrid players, the usual amount of apprehension before an important match carried through the air. Their last training session had barely started, which was why most of them failed to react when the first guards reached out to them. There was a lot of ushering and shuffling all of a sudden, and Marcelo kept trying to get a hold of Toni who was the only one of them who he thought might understand some of the German phrases thrown around.

“Toni-… Toni! What´s going on?”

“They´re saying-…” Toni began, his voice not quite carrying over the heads of some of their colleagues, hurrying along to a flurry of insistent gestures. “I think there´s-…”

Lopetegui´s commanding voice cut him off. “Follow their instructions. They´ll explain once we´re inside. No need to panic” was what Marcelo was able to hear. Their coach did not seem concerned, although Marcelo had not known the man for long enough to be an accurate judge of his expression. At the moment, there was little else to do than following along. He turned around to place his ball back inside the net from where he had retrieved it, but someone jostled him out of his idle complacency, pushing him into motion impatiently.

They gathered in the guest team´s changing cabin, and Marcelo sat down heavily at Casemiro´s side who was scowling at every face he did not recognise.

“Dude” Marcelo hissed, “any clue what´s happening?”

Someone clapped their hands together a few times, and some of the younger players flinched at the sharp sound of palm meeting palm.

“A moment of attention.”

Marcelo did not recognise the voice.

“I´m sure you have some questions. Let me tell you what we know before you´ll start asking them.”

A few mouths snapped shut. Various hands sank down sheepishly.

“We were informed just now that someone issued threats on social media.” The man waited until the alarmed murmurs had died down. “We are currently determining whether or not to take them seriously. In the meantime, we will take precautionary measures.”

“What kind of threats?” As usual, Sergio took it upon himself to be the first to raise his voice. The man answered him cautiously.

“We´ll give you an update once we have more information. As for now, we´d like you to remain calm and inside this room until we give you clearance to leave. Any further questions?”

Lucas raised his hand slowly, ducking his head when the man motioned towards him.

“How long, uh, is that gonna take?”

“Hard to say. We´ll keep you updated. If there are new developments, you´ll be the first to know.”

Somehow, Marcelo had a feeling telling them would not be the man´s first priority in case of an emergency, but he kept the thought to himself. He made a mental note to approach Toni again who had taken a spot next to the door, talking quietly to one of the guards.

Threats. That sounded vaguely disconcerting, even though their nature had not been specified. In all the years of his football career, Marcelo had never felt his occupation was a dangerous one, given that the riskiest thing apart from being injured on the pitch (with immediate medical attention available at any moment) was reading sports feeds after a defeat. For the most part, pride was the only thing hurt in most of those cases, with their generally busy seasons guaranteeing them a chance at swift retribution.

They were left to their own devices quickly, and when even their coach slipped out of the door, presumably to extort more information out of them, the rest were left glancing uncertainly at each other. They settled down more or less where they stood, and Marcelo realised that nobody was treating this as an emergency. He could not spot more than a couple of furrowed brows. It was unsettling.

Luka prodded his shoulder as he passed him on his way towards Toni.

“Everything alright?”

“Sure” Marcelo shrugged, although he could feel his features arrange themselves in an anxious grimace, warranting a squint from the Croatian.

“I just don´t like the idea of being stuck in here. Especially since we don´t know for how long.”

“I guess” Luka offered, but he seemed more concerned about Marcelo´s bad mood than the ominous threat hanging over them. He followed Marcelo at a sedate pace until they were within hearing distance of their teammate. Toni was one of the few who actually looked concerned, although it was not unusual to find a serious expression on the stern German´s face.

“Toni, my man” Marcelo greeted him with a good deal more exuberance than he really felt. “Anything useful to share?”

“Actually, there´s one thing… I think they didn´t realise I was listening.” Toni hesitated, and Marcelo prompted him with a twitch. “They were talking about a… bomb?”

If they had been actors in a sub-par TV show, his two friends would have dramatically gasped in unison at the revelation. As it was, Luka failed to react entirely and Marcelo coughed a little.

“A… bomb” he repeated to make sure he had heard the man correctly. When Toni nodded, the Brazilian scratched his stubble in consideration. “You sure?”

“Quite.” Toni glanced around. No one was paying them attention, and he sagged with relief. He never looked comfortable as a recipient of unexpected amounts of attention, and although his profession had ensured he was able to deal with it, it was obvious he despised the hassle.

“Do you think” Marcelo began slowly, “we should tell the others?”

“No” Luka said instantly which surprised Marcelo more than he cared to admit.

“Why not?”

“They would worry.”

“Like they are not worried right now anyway.”

“Not very much” Luka argued, and Marcelo had to concede the point; the most agitated of their teammates was Nacho who had, judging by his noisy complaints, misplaced his headphones.

“Well-… They have a right, you know.”

“A right to be afraid? Maybe so” Luka shrugged, “but look at it like this. If you had to spend the next few hours in the company of a bunch of overconfident brats, would you really want to stir them up?”

Marcelo snorted at his friend´s derogatory remark, delivered with a certain matter-of-factness that made it impossible to take him in earnest.

“Seriously though” he continued to argue when he had regained his composure, “what if there really is a bomb? We´re sitting ducks in here!”

“I don´t know about the bomb” Toni interjected thoughtfully, “but it seems like this is the safest place around. They´ve checked it before we got here, and it´s not too far from a back exit.”

“Okay, but why do we need a safe place? In a building possibly containing a bomb? Shouldn´t we be leaving? Like, right now?”

“Did they say where they suspect a bomb might be?” Luka asked and nodded when Toni inclined his head to indicate his lack of further knowledge. “There you have it. If they don´t know where it´s going to be – where it could be, if it actually exists – it´s probably better to stay where they can keep an eye on us. It might be a car bomb as far as we know, or the kind of explosives you throw through a bus window-…”

“Right. I´ve heard about that, too, you know” Marcelo interrupted him. The Dortmund incident had travelled through the world after all.

He knew Luka´s points were valid, but Marcelo´s stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought of leaving their colleagues – their friends – in oblivion.

“Toni” he said finally. The German winced. “Looks like you get the final vote. Tell, don´t tell, what do you think?”

“Hey, man” Toni lifted his hands defensively. “Don´t pin this on me, I don´t know the first thing about the situation.”

“How about this, then.” Luka took the German´s reluctance as his cue to continue. “We´ll wait, see if anything develops. At the first sign of proof that there is actually something wrong, we´ll rethink our approach. Besides, it´s not like we have a good grasp on the situation. Dropping the verbal bomb, ha – sorry – wouldn´t really help anyone understand better or decide on a good course of action.”

Marcelo found himself slowly nodding along to Luka´s calm suggestion.

“Alright” he agreed eventually, “let´s keep whatever Toni heard to ourselves. For now.”

His European teammates nodded in agreement, and he craned his head in search of a nice corner to settle into. “Alright, who wants to get beaten at NBA Jam?”


	2. Of Headphones and Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still shaking from today´s award ceremony which somewhat impedes my typing ability. I don´t think I´ve ever been as proud as I was today, watching Luka Modrić lift that golden ball. The Croatian president really said it all; he is a credit to his country and beyond deserving of this honour. Budi ponosan!
> 
> That being said, here´s the second chapter.

Dissent rose quickly among the ranks when they discovered that no one had internet access, which cut them off of about ninety percent of entertainment options. Marcelo guessed that someone had managed to block their connection, although the only reason for this seemed to him their possible intent to keep them away from the media platforms that presumably still contained the “threats”. Or perhaps the signal was just too weak beneath the stadium.

Even the most extensive playlist could only stave off so much boredom. Marcelo watched, fingers tapping impatiently, as Isco´s mouth opened in a yawn that split his face neatly in half before blearily blinking around in an attempt to spot something distracting enough to make him forget about the time already spent and possibly to come in the cramped changing cabin. At least they had access to a bathroom, the Brazilian realised with no small amount of relief that usually accompanied the revelation of a rather fundamental nature, and wouldn´t that have been awkward.

“What do you think is happening out there?” he asked, slapping Luka´s shoulder who sat next to him, quietly humming along to the tune blasting through his headphones onto his eardrums. The Croat plucked out an earbud and Marcelo repeated his question impatiently.

“I don´t know” Luka told him helpfully.

“Yeah, but what do you _think_ ” Marcelo persisted, desperate to occupy his mind.

“It´s no use to make a guess, it´s not going to be an educated one since we´ve been given nothing to work with here” Luka pointed out and squawked in indignation when his friend shoved him. The Brazilian grumbled wordlessly, and Luka seemed to take pity on him because he pressed a button on his phone and turned his full attention towards Marcelo. “Do you have any theories, perhaps?”

“… No” Marcelo mumbled after a moment of surprised contemplation, “but I´d really like to know.”

“Wouldn´t we all” Luka sighed and waved at Gareth who had begun making his way towards them.

“Anyone see a pair of green headphones?”

“No” Luka said, “I take it Nacho is still looking for his.”

“He´s getting cranky.” Gareth leaned towards them conspiratorially. “Dani´s close to blowing a fuse.”

“Oh.”

Nacho, bereft of other means of entertainment, had occupied the place next to Dani and was, by the looks of it, talking his ear off about his missing equipment. The tension radiating off Dani was nearly palpable.

“Maybe we should do something about that.”

“I´ll go distract him” Luka offered, wisely stuffing his own headphones into his pocket and hauling himself upwards with the hand Gareth graciously offered. Marcelo watched as he wedged himself between the two Spaniards, forcing Nacho to turn his attention towards him and giving Dani the opportunity to scurry off to salvation.

“So, what have you been doing?” Marcelo asked the Welshman, belatedly remembering to switch to English which was still the man´s preferred language of communication. Gareth had plopped into the space Luka had vacated, stretching heartily and wincing when his shoulders cracked.

“Nothing much. Reading, mostly.”

“What are you reading?” Marcelo´s interaction with English mostly consisted of chatting up someone with what little vocabulary he could remember and occasionally deciphering hotel regulations.

“Oh, it´s nothing special. A Christmas present.” Gareth hesitated, and then added: “About happiness. What it is, how to get it, that sort of thing.”

Marcelo stared at him. “How do you get it?”

“Hm?”

“Happiness.”

“No clue. The author says getting up early is very important though.”

That seemed dubious to the Brazilian who deemed the first morning rays of sunlight a personal offence.

“Toni” he shouted to be heard over the sudden cacophony of victorious howls emanating from Marco, accompanied by Isco´s groan of defeat. “What about you?”

“What?”

“How do you become happy?”

“Happy?”

“Yeah!”

“Nothing else?”

“Yup.”

“I don´t know. Probably by avoiding stress, all that stuff.”

“We won´t find the recipe for happiness in here, then” Gareth observed, demonstratively sticking two fingers into his ears and barely managing to slide his feet out of the way of Marco´s trampling run, Isco on his heels.

“Right.” Marcelo´s eyes fell on Lucas who was uncharacteristically quiet, huddled in a corner and fiddling with his nails as if his life depended on it. He lifted a hand to wave towards him, but the young player took no notice of Marcelo´s attempt at communication, and the Brazilian decided a few steps could work in both of their favour. He stood and approached the despondent man.

“Hey” Marcelo nudged Lucas with his foot. “What´s up?”

“Wh-… oh, yeah.”

“Boredom killing you yet?”

“… Yes. Sure.”

Marcelo sat down next to him. “You know what? I wish we had the option to leave right now. I also know it´s probably not gonna happen any time soon.”

“I don´t-…”

“So you might as well tell me what´s bothering you. I´ve got plenty of time, and so do you.”

“Nothing is bothering me-…”

“Look” Marcelo said kindly, “I´m not the one staring off into space like someone spat on my rosary. Lucas. Come on. Sulking in a corner, that´s not like you.”

“… Okay” Lucas finally caved, “I just don´t like sitting around uselessly.”

“Hey, me neither.”

“And there´s no way of telling how long we´ll have to stay put.” Lucas rubbed at one of his eyes. The weary gesture added fifty years to his youthful features.

“I get it” Marcelo told him. “Not much we can do about it, eh?” He nudged the younger man´s shoulder in solidarity. “Tell you what, I´ll talk to someone outside that door, see if I can find out more, okay? Good lad” he added when Lucas perked up almost imperceptibly.

Marcelo left him with the satisfying sensation of a potential crisis having been delayed, if not eradicated. He knew Lucas hid an easily inflammable temper beneath his unassuming exterior. So did many of their colleagues, he realised, nervously glancing around. In the absence of a coach, Marcelo often took it upon himself to restore and preserve order within their rag-tag group of hot-heads, the main reason being that their captain was usually right at the centre of mayhem.

To his relief, nothing else seemed to require his immediate attention. Even Nacho had settled down, whether for Luka´s calming influence or simply because he had exhausted himself. The fact that the Croat´s headphones were dangling from his ears while he happily dragged a thumb across his phone probably helped as well.

Marcelo waved towards Luka who raised a brow at him. “I´m gonna talk to a guard. You wanna come?” He took care to say this in the low tones of someone counting on a dozen ears cocked for potentially interesting and therefore distracting things. Even now, Marco was eyeing them far more alertly than Marcelo would have liked.

Before the curious Spaniard could think about joining them, however, Marcelo was already striding towards the door, Luka trying his utmost to look nonchalant as he followed him. The Brazilian pushed the handle down, astonished at his own surprise when the door gave way immediately.

“Excuse me” he called out to the woman leaning against the wall next to him. She turned and fixated him with a disapproving stare.

“Stay inside” she ordered, not quite daring to lay her hands on him but very intensely conveying her need for him to obey.

“Yes, but-… Some of us were wondering-…”

“We´ll keep you updated” she insisted, “there´s nothing yet. Go back inside.”

Marcelo relented, withdrawing his head before leaning forward once more.

“Sorry, is there any chance we could get some food in here? How about some mouldy bread? You know, keep up with the whole prison theme?”

She scowled at him, moving her hand towards her waist, and Marcelo decided not to antagonise her further. Only when she fished out a blocky black communication device – and not a weapon of sorts – did he dare to get a last jab in.

“And some mineral water, if you don´t mind? There´s that tap in the toilet, I know, but we inmates have standards after all.”

Luka yanked him back inside.

“You shouldn´t have said that” he scolded his friend.

“Probably” Marcelo conceded. “Felt good though.”

Luka´s mouth twitched in a reluctant smile.

“Seriously though, I mean, shouldn´t we hear from them even if nothing much happens? Like, ‘thanks for staying put, guys, nothing to report, here´s your complimentary cuppa, see you in an hour’?”

“Maybe they´re all busy.”

“Doing what? Scrolling through Twitter? I´m not having that.”

Marcelo wrapped his hand around the door handle again. “Hey lady, how about-… huh.”

The corridor was empty.


	3. A Whistle for the Wistful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´m currently rewatching World Cup matches, so if anyone wants to indulge in sweet memories, feel free to do so in the comments, or simply lean back a moment and think about your team(s), the bright moments (mostly featuring fierce Croatia for me), perhaps some bitter ones (I can think of plenty, a little closer to home).
> 
> As for this story, our five main characters start their exploration.

“Where the hell is everyone?”

Dani´s question echoed through empty tunnels, and the walls threw their steps back at them in a pounding staccato of reverberating finality.

“Beats me” Marcelo shrugged, marching in front of their little group that had banded together to exploit the unexpected opportunity of missing supervision.

When Marcelo had failed to spot a guard in their vicinity, he had not hesitated. Surprisingly few of his colleagues had volunteered to accompany him. Here he had thought he was doing them a favour, rousing them from inactivity; it turned out that inactivity was a full-time occupation.

Nacho had been eager to go, and so had Dani who seemed to have forgotten his torture at the hands of his fellow Spaniard quite quickly. Marcelo had not even needed to ask Luka whom he informally thought of as a Vice-President of Executive Affairs Concerning All Things of a Potentially Hazardous Nature, being a firm believer in the capabilities of someone who acted like he knew what he was doing most of the time. And somehow, Raphaël, without bothering to announce his intentions, had slipped out with them. His tall shadow flickered across the walls as they crept forward.

Reasoning that the police had, apart from some stadium facilities the whereabouts of which were a great mystery to all of them, probably taken up residence outside the stadium where the entry points could be put under surveillance, Marcelo had pondered their best course of action and arrived at a conclusion. Their aim was to make their way outside to convey their dissatisfaction with the current situation in person. So far, all the stadium had yielded was a great gaping labyrinth of corridors, punctuated by a plethora of corners that inconveniently hid what lay behind them. They had spent most of their way going back and forth, peeking around walls and shouting at each other before a particularly promising prospect was picked and proceeded on.

Luka sidled up to Marcelo, jostling the defender from his pensive state.

“You look awfully tense.”

“Really.” Marcelo made a point of slouching, swinging his arms back and forth like a toddler on his way to the playground. “How about that.”

“Right.” Luka shook his head, and they walked together in silence for the time it took them to reach the next corner before the Croatian began humming under his breath, and just when Marcelo had been about to address this fact his friend whistled a few long notes that tumbled together in a melodic cacophony of resonance.

“Ssshhh” Marcelo urged him, “keep it down.”

Luka´s nose wrinkled in polite scepticism. “What for?”

“You know. Uh. Someone might hear.”

The midfielder fell silent, and Marcelo was about to raise a thumb at him when Luka resumed his humming. Bouncing back from the walls, overlapping and lingering in the sharp air, the cheerful tune gained an eerie edge.

“Luka!” Marcelo hissed, agitated at the man´s apparent lack of sensibility.

“Marcelo” his friend threw his name back at him, “now this is just me taking a wild stab in the dark, but if I didn´t know any better I´d say you´re nervous. Anxious, even.”

“I´m not-… so what?” Marcelo hated how defensive he felt all of a sudden. “We´re wandering around without a map or anything to, to keep track of this place, there´s supposed to be police around but they´re nowhere to be seen, and we have this-…” He threw a hasty glance behind him, to where the rest of their group was lagging a few lazy steps behind, conversing in hushed tones, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “This _bomb thing_ hanging over us. _Excuse_ me if I feel the need to exercise a little caution.”

“This place is not so big, I don´t think we could get lost in here, and we´re bound to stumble upon _someone_ eventually” Luka pointed out. “Also, I don´t get your point about the bomb. I think it´s very unlikely that something explosive would be triggered by arbitrary noises. And if you would stop fretting for a second, you´d realise something.”

“What” Marcelo asked when Luka failed to elaborate. “What would I realise?”

Luka shook his head, and the razor edge of a smile began to form on his face. “We´re alone, beneath an empty stadium. Long walls all around.”

Marcelo wished he could whittle away at the smile´s sharpness. “So?”

“So, THIS.”

THIS

THis

this

is

s

Marcelo grunted when realisation struck, and the sound chased after Luka´s demonstrative exclamation.

“Oh” he breathed, and then, “ECHO!”

ECHO

ECho

Echo

cho

o

“Now you´re getting it” Luka grinned, and Marcelo, mind blessedly free from his previous worries, began to try and hit the first notes of _Hala Madrid y nada más_. The whistled hymn hurtled itself across the smooth floor, fading under the footsteps of their approaching colleagues.

“Umm” Nacho said when they had caught up, a disbelieving smile fixed firmly on his face, “is this really the time?”

“Dude” Marcelo turned to him, reflected lamp light glittering in his wide eyes, “you gotta try this.”

It was Rapha who eventually nudged them from their noisy pastime, although he´d had his fair share of hollering as well.

“Guys, maybe we should get going” he advised, already taking a look around the next corner. “Hey!” He snapped his fingers at Dani who blinked at him with pursed lips, frozen half-way through his attempt at a whistled duet with Nacho.

Marcelo suppressed the urge to plead for five more minutes, motioning towards the others to keep going and pushing off from his leaning stance. They started moving again, and when Rapha´s shoulders slumped as he inspected yet another hallway Marcelo caught up to him, stepping besides his French teammate. “Anything interesting?”

“Walls. It´s fascinating. And guess what´s over there – even more walls!”

“What about the doors?”

“All the ones that we've tried to open were locked, what makes you think these are gonna be any different?”

“I don´t know, but anything beats staring at them.”

Marcelo felt his way around a dozen door handles before giving up and turning back towards the others. As the self-declared entertainer of the group, Nacho had already found a new way of pleasing the masses.

“…-No. Take another guess-… Nope. It´s not-… Look, I´ll try something else.” He straightened up to the point of comicality, his face smoothing into a robotic mask. He kept the lack of expression active for a few seconds before starting to smooth down his hair while declaring, “Eins! Zwei! Drei! Uh, sieben! Vot are you doink? Move, zis is no time for lazing around!”

Dani grunted. “That´s gotta be Toni.”

A broad grin destroyed Nacho´s carefully crafted imitation. “Yeah, well done! Although that was an easy one… Right. Your turn.”

“Hmmm…” Dani´s face scrunched up in thought for a second before he perked up. “Alright, watch this.” He started tiptoeing across the floor, eyes firmly fixed on an imaginary object before suddenly darting forward. Moving in a fashion that clearly suggested he was attempting to control a ball, he suddenly sagged forward in disappointment, abandoning the invisible ball to slink off.

When Nacho and Luka stared at him with incomprehension, he repeated the manoeuvre, growling when they failed to be inspired by his second rousing performance. “Oh, c´mon, guys. It´s obvious!”

“Can you do it again?” Luka asked, squinting at the Spaniard´s sullen repetition. “No, sorry. I don´t get it.”

“Argh!” Dani threw up his hands. “Karim! It´s Karim.”

“How the hell was that supposed to be Karim” Nacho complained, stumbling when his compatriot aimed a kick at him.

“Look-…” Dani jerked forward once more, “he´s always offside, right? Like this!” Nacho lifted his shoulders apologetically, but Luka´s hand shot up to slap his forehead.

“Aaah, yes. I see it now.”

“Yeah” the defender grumbled, placated. “Should I do someone else or do you…”

“I´ll take a turn.” The Croatian pretended to slip something over his hands before he went up on his toes, snarling impressively as he glared at each of them. “Get back! Back! Sergio, don´t you dare-… I said don´t, you morons!”

Gesturing wildly, he continued shouting, ultimately losing his balance and nearly toppling over, but the Spaniards had seen enough.

“Keylor” they said in unison, smirking when Luka raised his thumb in approval.

“Could´ve been any of our goalies though” Marcelo inserted himself into their banter seamlessly while Rapha kept scouting ahead until his shout snatched everyone´s attention.

Pinned by the tall Frenchman´s fervent stare was a man, guiltily glancing around, but that was not what made Marcelo hold his breath.

Half-hidden behind his back, the stranger´s hands were clutching a large black bag.


	4. In the Eyes of the Beholder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real Madrid have truly given us a reason to celebrate them after the toils and troubles of those past few months. But we should be proud of their achievements, especially now they´ve done what no other team has done before (again!). Hala Madrid y nada más!  
> Thank you for your continued support to all those who´re still reading and commenting! You´re all lovely and I appreciate it a lot.

Ten minutes later, they were still to trying to make sense of the man´s presence.

They found out that he spoke English, albeit on the rudimentary level of someone who had never bothered to become properly acquainted with the language, and his Spanish seemed to be limited to a hesitant “ _Hola_? Uh, _vamos_ ”.

“A tourist” Dani moaned, “ _lo que me faltaba_.”

“Ask him how he got inside” Marcelo instructed Luka who had, by general agreement, become the intermediary. The question did not please the man who mumbled and stuttered and finally admitted that he had entered on a whim with the intention of having a look around.

“No guide” he insisted, waggling his fingers, “Only second. Look around. Then-… no exit!”

“He says-…” Luka began.

“Thanks, I think we got it.” Nacho eyed the man critically. “I don´t know. That guy seems pretty suspicious to me.”

Marcelo began to suspect that Nacho was more perceptive than he had given him credit for. Ever since they had stumbled upon the stranger, the Brazilian had been unable to cast the image of wires and switches inside the man´s bag from his mind, but his fellow defender could not have known about that.

“Do you think-…” Marcelo whispered to Luka who shrugged, eyeing the bag and then the heavy jacket that the man was wearing, not quite appropriate for the season.

“I don´t know.” Luka raised his voice to continue in English. “What´s your name?”

“Name? Ah, Artschil. Artschil Bukhrashvili.”

„Artsch-… Arschlbug-…… Okay, how about we call you Art for now?” Luka repeated Dani´s question, to which the man nodded his assent. “Good. You can come with us for now-… What?”

“Dude” Nacho grit out between his teeth, “what if he´s… You know. Dangerous?”

“Don´t be ridiculous, why would he be-…”

“Remember why we´re here? That threat which we know nothing about?”

“Well, yeah. But you don´t think _he´s_ -… Nah, man.”

Nacho glanced at the man, dubbed “Art” until further notice, and relented. “Maybe not. But we should keep an eye out in any case!”

Art joined them eagerly, exchanging a few more pleasantries with Luka who was intent on finding out more about the man. As a football fan, he had recognised them instantly, although he confessed to being a Bayern Munich supporter (“No offence! No offence!”), and he turned out to be a bottomless well of advice. Luka listened to his take on their tactical set-up politely at first, nodding with a smile that became somewhat strained when the man failed to stop talking.

“But more, uh, aggressive! More at ball!”

“Yes.”

“And more speed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Defence, big mess.”

“Mhm.”

“But no offence!”

“I´m sure.”

“Can´t we lock him in a cupboard or something?” Dani suggested hopefully and earned himself a slap on the back of his head. Rubbing his head, he threw Marcelo a hurt look and joined Nacho who hung back, eyes firmly focused on the stranger´s back. The two Spaniards started to squabble almost instantly when Dani trudged on his friend´s feet, effectively putting an end to Nacho´s vigilance.

“Can you keep it down, guys-… Argh, forget it.” Marcelo sniffed with the air of a babysitter at the end of his wits.

“I don´t think there´s even the slightest chance that anyone in this building hasn´t heard us by now” Rapha pointed out helpfully, to which Marcelo replied, “true, but I´d really like some peace once in a while.” The noise did not help the headache that was beginning to form behind his forehead.

Alas, his longing for peace would have to be put aside for now, because just at that moment, a ruckus at the far end of the corridor jolted them into action. The group ducked collectively, although Art had to be pushed down after he stood squinting in puzzlement for a few seconds. This move, owing to its spontaneous nature due to limited options, would have been only marginally effective against a premature discovery; they might as well have remained standing for all the good it did them. But while concealment might not have been any of the players´ strong suit, it turned out that they needn´t have bothered.

Steps swelled past them and faded in the distance.

“Who-…” Nacho whispered when silence had settled back around them.

Marcelo, who had spotted a few vaguely familiar faces, was the first to react. “I think I saw them among the police earlier” he hazarded, and Nacho sprang up.

“Well-… why didn´t we go after them? They might be able to help us!”

It was a good question. It was in fact so excellent that Marcelo´s brain short-circuited while mulling over a possible cause for his reluctance to approach the passing law enforcers. But something had held him back, a tiny but insistently nibbling force at the back of his mind, and he held his intuition in high regard.

“Doesn´t matter now, they´re gone” he said, evading Nacho´s scrutiny as he stood back up. “But they had to come from somewhere, right? If we can trace their way back, we´ll find an exit, I´m sure of it.”

“Sounds good, let´s go” the ever-pragmatic Luka said, hauling Art up with him as he got to his feet. Marcelo had to blink twice when his eyes fell on the accidental member of their group.

“Hey, didn´t you-… Never mind.” The Brazilian shook his head, stopping when the motion made his brain protest with a throbbing sting. It was probably his own fault for not paying enough attention, and anyway, there was no way the man could have changed that much in such a short amount of time.

Next thing he knew, they were pushing open a heavy double-winged door and stumbled outside, the autumnal Munich air caressing their faces with cold fingers. Marcelo inhaled deeply, his headache gradually numbing as fresh oxygen filled his lungs.

Dani took a cursory glance around.

“Well. It´s a kind of outside.”

They stepped onto the wide green pastures of the Allianz Arena, tiny lost figures in the grand scheme of things. Compared to the wide corridors that had amplified every sound they had made, the wide expanse of space muffled their presence, and they could not spot a single person apart from them. The lack of noise was unsettling, because while they had played in empty stadiums before, there had always been a certain atmosphere filling the air with life. But there was no life to be found amidst the colourful kaleidoscope of empty chairs.

“Maybe we could climb the stands?” Nacho suggested, but Rapha scoffed at the suggestion.

“And abseil on the other side once we´re on top, or what? No way.”

“I don´t know” Dani smirked, nudging Luka who was walking beside him, “if we make a rope out of Luka´s hair, we might get half-way there.”

“Half-way is still a long way down” Luka returned, narrowing his eyes at the Spaniard. “You wouldn´t look so good as a splash on the ground.”

Dani lifted his hands in an attempt to appease the Croatian, although his grin did not disappear until sobriety struck him in a lightning bolt of realisation.

“Uh-… Where´s Art?”

The man was gone, and when their subsequent shouting failed to produce him, Nacho shrugged. “Good riddance, I say.”

When Marcelo turned around, he found Rapha squinting at them in puzzlement.

“What?”

“What are you talking ab-… Forget it. We should probably go back though.”

They realised that something was wrong the instance they set foot back inside.

“Guys-… Is it just me, or-… There´s this, this really weird smell. I mean, was it like this before?”

“I don´t… think so?” Nacho´s observation knocked on a door in Marcelo´s mind that had previously been firmly closed. He sniffed, and as a pungent sensation assaulted his tonsils, not quite chemical but uncomfortable all the same, his heart took an anxious leap.

“You´re right though” Rapha inhaled deeply as well and instantly regretted his life choices, coughing until he had recovered enough to add, “that’s not the usual sweaty sock smell.”

“The awful aroma” Nacho quipped, “wait, wait, the… obnoxious odour. Foul fragrance?”

“That´s nice, Nacho.” Luka gave him an indulgent pat, but the motion was conspicuously lacking in energy. “How about you use those brain cells to find an exit?”

“Actually” Dani interjected, “can we-… take a break or something?”

Marcelo felt his eyebrows shoot up. Their Spanish friend´s natural resiliency had been vital for the outcome of many previous matches, but it seemed as though he had reached his limits. To be fair, the Brazilian was not much better off; although his headache had subsided, his stomach was starting to act up.

“Come on, are you already tired? We haven´t even been on our feet for two hours!” Out of the five of them, Rapha was the only one who did not seem noticeably worse for the wear. “Some professional athlete you are…”

“Oh, don´t give me that holier-than-thou act-…”

“No, Dani, he´s right” Luka cut him off. “We haven´t been walking around for nearly long enough to feel this exhausted. I don´t know about you, but my head is killing me-…”

“Same here-…” Marcelo threw in, fingers twitching up to his temples.

“It got better when we went outside, but now that we´re back in here…”

“Hold on.” Connecting the dots had taken Marcelo longer than he would have liked, but bit by bit, a conclusion had paved its way through the convoluted recesses of his mind. “What if-… Luka, what if this isn´t-… What if there never was a bomb?”

“What, you think Toni misunderstood something?”

“No-…” Marcelo nearly choked on his tongue as it curled around his theory. “Maybe the security guys don´t know either. If they thought something was wrong and just, just started following a lead on a guess because there wasn´t enough information-… I mean, we haven´t heard back from them ever since they left. Maybe this isn´t about a bomb _at all_ -…”

“Hold up a second” Nacho interrupted him, wide-eyed, “what´s that about a bomb-…”

“No, Nacho, listen, I just said that there´s no bomb at all-…”

“Oh” Luka breathed, and Marcelo knew he had worked his way through the defender´s clumsy explanation. “We´ve been-…”

“Yeah.”

“So, now we´ve got to-…”

“Okay, guys. Guys. Stop.” Nacho looked a little pale, and Marcelo suspected more reasons than just shock over the mention of a bomb. “If you don´t start making sense soon, I´m gonna bust a nut here.”

“Right. How are you feeling? I mean, forget about being annoyed. How are you holding up _physically_?”

“I… a bit nauseated, actually” the Spaniard admitted, and Dani nodded to indicate that he was experiencing similar troubles. “And I´m kinda tired.”

“Add that to the funny smell, and what do we have?” Marcelo knew something was messing with him when he felt hysterical laughter bubble up in his throat. He just about managed to shove it back down.

“You think-…” Rapha´s face distorted with concern. “Something in the air is making us sick?”

“Bingo.”

“Alright” Nacho said weakly, “but what about the bomb?”

“ _There is no bomb_ -…”

“What Marcelo means to say” Luka took over with a reprimanding glance towards the Brazilian, “is that Toni told us earlier that the police were talking about a bomb before. But it´s pretty unlikely that there would be a bomb _and_ a poison attack at the same time – because I think poison is our best guess right now – and we need to focus on the immediate threat.”

He might have been imagining things, but Marcelo found it harder to breathe by the minute. It was likely that they had been affected over the entire duration of their exploration, but only the contrast between the fresh, clean air from outside had opened their eyes.

“Should we-… go back outside? We should get out of here, right? Maybe we´ll find another way if we keep looking-…”

“I´m afraid it´s not that simple” Luka said, and his next words sent shivers down their spines, “because the others are still in here, and they have no idea.”


End file.
